


about two mornings (one very early and one quite late)

by bogfable



Series: cassiopeia au [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Chronic Pain, Domestic Fluff, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Mornings, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Talking, Trans Caduceus Clay, Trans Fjord (Critical Role), also this has so much soft hand touches im sorry, bro they are transed Gender!, cad has EDS, its all i can write about, written pre-aroace confirmation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25148041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogfable/pseuds/bogfable
Summary: Set in the same AU as About Waking, Cassiopeia and Good People, but before Cassiopeia is born.. (you dont have to read it first though)A pair of short fics about...just fjord being comforted by cad, and then the other way around in the second chapter.. thatse it. that is all this is. i hope someone enjoys it :")
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Series: cassiopeia au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822063
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	1. and i digress (because i must make you the perfect morning)

**Author's Note:**

> if i write one more fic about people lying around and talking you're allowed fight me. i swear i've written this fic (but better. this fic feels very clunky. ohdear.) before. im sorry, its apparently all i know how to do...
> 
> kudos and comments are very much appreciated, thankyou <3
> 
> -
> 
> Also, note about trans stuff: cad is pregnant in this..the wildmother was like.yeah you're both trans. yea you can still have a baby. n she did it bc she's a god and she said trans rights....I'm transmasc myself and so these headcanons are very close and dear to my heart.  
> 

part i

Fjord’s restless again, stirring in his sleep. He tosses, turns like the sea, grumbling, breathing heavy. He murmurs something too breathy to make out.

Caduceus watches, half awake in the darkness. He listens to Fjord’s whispers until he starts to cry out, until it feels too cruel to let him be. He lays his hand on Fjord’s chest, waking him with a gasp. 

“Caduceus,” he whispers. “Oh, gods.”

“You’re alright.” Caduceus shushes as Fjord’s breath quivers. “Bad dream?” he asks, though it’s really more of a statement.

Fjord nods. “Yes— Yes…Just a bad dream.” He’s still gasping for air. For a moment Caduceus’ worries he’ll start spitting up seawater again, but he doesn’t start to cough, only breathes quick and shallow — _Thank the gods_.

“You’re alright,” Caduceus says again. “ _Deeeep_ breaths. Slow.” He tries not to sound too worried as he rests the back of his hand on Fjord’s sweated brow.  “They’ve really been doing a number on you lately.”

Fjord gulps down lungfuls as slow and deep as he can manage, holding his breath in-between. 

“I suppose…” he manages to say. There’s a wavering to his voice, like young trees caught in their first storm.

Cautiously, Caduceus asks: “What where you dreaming about?”

Fjord groans and pulls the thin sheet up to his face, wiping his eyes. 

“Just… the usual,” he says after a while. “Uk’otoa… _drowning_ …”

Panic blossoms and blooms into a lump in Caduceus’ throat. “Has He found you again?”

“No. No, it’s…not like that,” Fjord says. He rolls onto his side and into Caduceus’ waiting arms, and — _Oh, dear—_ he’s trembling still, back damp with sweat _._

“My mind just repeats what I’d dream about when He _would_ control them. He’s not really there — I can tell…I can’t feel His voice like I used to…It’s only the imagery…eyes, dark water…you know. It feels almost real in the moment, but not quite there.”

“Enough to be frightening, though?” asks Caduceus.

Fjord nods against his shoulder. “Sometimes you’re—” He takes a shaky breath. “You’re in them too, drowning. And I can never reach you beneath the water… That’s— That’s the worst part.” 

“Oh,” Caduceus whispers. “Oh, Fjord-dear.” 

He places his palm over Fjord’s breastbone, over the scar, slightly raised beneath his palm, and waits for Fjord’s hand to cover his own — it doesn’t more than a moment. And Fjord sighs at the touch. Caduceus waits patiently, to see if maybe he’ll continue talking, because what he hasn’t said is almost tangible, floating somewhere in the space between them both. 

_He’s seen the worry on Fjord’s face as he watches him working away in the garden, tending to the fussy young acer he’d planted not long ago. As he’d offered to dig out the small pond for him, despite Caduceus being much more experienced with hole-digging. Politely, he’d let Fjord help._

“You’re worried, aren’t you,” says Caduceus. Again, a statement rather than a question.

“About what?” asks Fjord.

“Me…Our child.”

Fjord sighs and laughs the smallest, tired laugh. “Of course I am.”

“Mother won’t let anything bad happen.” Caduceus runs his fingers through Fjord’s dark hair, humming. “She wouldn’t give us a gift just to take it away.”

“I guess not,” Fjord says. “I’m…I’m still so worried, though.”

His hand squeezed Caduceus’ own, and Caduceus pressed his fingertips against his chest, against his skin and dark hair, heartbeat heavy below. They lie like that for a while, unmoving save for their evened-out breathing. A seabird cries outside — it’ll be dawn-time soon, early this time of year. _The raspberries are nearly ripe…_

“Caduceus?” whispers Fjord. 

He’d begun to drift off. “Mm?”

“I think you’re very brave.”

_Now, that’s a strange thing to say,_ Caduceus thinks. He doesn’t see it, especially not after all the lies he told his friends and parents, the _Oh, I’m just fine_ ’s and the _I cant wait to come home_ ’s. 

That was a while ago now, a couple years, before he and Fjord were married. 

He really shouldn’t dwell.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

Fjord presses his soft cheek to Caduceus’ collarbone. “For carrying our child,” he says. “It’s scary, and probably dangerous. Maybe… And I just think you’re being very brave.”

_Oh_. Caduceus’ heart aches, suddenly so full. 

“I’m a little foolish, I think,” he says.

Fjord laughs, his chest shaking. “Well, that makes two of us.”

Caduceus laughs too, draws his hand out from under Fjord’s to place it on his stubbled jaw, one palm on each side. 

_Fjord had been so pleased the first time he grew out his beard (with a little help from the Wildmother, of course). He’d held his head high, despite Beau’s good-natured teasing. He shaves now, though, now that it’s easier to grow back._

Caduceus can’t help but smile to himself.

“What?” asks Fjord.

“I think…” Caduceus sighs. “I just think I love you very much.”

“I—” Fjord pauses. “I love you too. To the ends of the world and back” 

He sounds like he might cry. The tremble in his voice makes Caduceus want to wrap him in wool blankets and hold him forever. It makes him want to bring him tea and soup on cold evenings. It makes him want to hold his hands so tightly when they bed down together, and never let go.

He presses a kiss to the scar that cuts through Fjord’s eyebrow. 

“Fjord?”

“Yes?” His voice is quiet.

“I can’t…I don’t think I can promise that nothing will go wrong, or that nothing will be difficult or painful,” Caduceus says, because he doesn’t believe in a single path of fate anymore. Because he found out a long time ago that living is messier than that, and fate branches outwards, like branches, roots and riverbeds. “I have faith in the Wildmother, though, and in us…. I think we’ll be safe… Despite anything that might happen, I think we’ll all be alright in the end.”

Fjord sighs, warm against Caduceus’ thin fur.

“I trust you,” he says. And then after a moment: “Could we pray to her?”

“Now?”

Fjord nods.

“Yeah. That’s a nice idea,” says Caduceus, pushing himself slowly upright. “We can commune in the morning, too. If you feel like it.”

He sits cross-legged on the bed and waits until Fjord follows suit, mirrored in the dark in front of him, knees and shins touching. Together they’re cocooned in the alcove of the bed, behind it’s silken, meshy curtains. They share each other’s breath and body heat. Fjord looks up, eyes glowing faintly in the blue darkness, like embers.

“Should we light some incense?” he asks.

“Ah,” Caduceus hums, shaking his head. “No, I think this is just fine.”

He takes Fjord’s hands in his. They’re strong, rough and grounding — hardworking hands, worn-in and calloused as his own. They feel like safety, warmth against his cold fingers.

_Caduceus had realised, after they’d settled on the coast for some time, that despite the ever-present warmth of the Grove, the Savalirwood’s cold-damp darkness had seeped into his bones. Perhaps it had done so whilst he was still growing, nevertheless it had and stuck with him._

_It’s nice on the coast — not too humid, even in summer. He’s warm here, especially with Fjord. Still, he wears socks to bed._

“Do you want to…?” asks Fjord.

“Mm?” Caduceus looks up from their hands. “Oh, yeah. Lead the prayer… Do you?” 

“You’re better at it than I am,” says Fjord.

Caduceus laughs, quiet. “I don’t think you can be better or worse at praying, Fjord. You do just fine.”

“Well— Yes. I know.” Fjord laughs too. “You just have a way with words.”

“So do you.”

“With other _folk_ ,” says Fjord. “Not with plants or fey or gods. I get…nervous.” 

Caduceus chuckles as he readjusts his achy legs, tucks his tail by his side. “I still can’t believe you yelled at the jungle on the way to the Menagerie,” he muses. “And got eaten by that plant.”

“Oh gods,” Fjord groans. “Don’t remind me.”

Caduceus chuckles, making no effort to hide his grin. 

“Alright,” he says after a moment, composing himself. He takes a deep breath. “I’ll lead the prayer…But don’t be afraid to join in, to add anything that comes to mind.”

They take each other’s hands, gently resting them between their knees. Caduceus breathes slowly: long inhales, longer exhales. He closes his eyes and clears his mind, emptying it of unnecessary things, searching for words in the unbroken darkness.

They come easily — already familiar.

“Mother,” he begins. “We ask for your protection, your kindness, your blessing.

We ask that although death is not solely yours to control, that you provide our child with the life they need —and the life we need— to see this through to the other side.”

He pauses, just to breathe. He waits, letting the quiet sit.

Fjord breaks the silence. “We thank you, Mother, for your generosity.”

Caduceus squeezes his shaking hands, encouraging.

“This gift…” Fjord continues. “It…It truly means the world to us… Thank you, again.”

“Thank you,” Caduceus echoes.

Between them a soft breeze picks up, barely there, tugging fey-light on their eyelashes, grazing the hair on their jaws. It whispers, singing in Caduceus’ ears. It’s song is the hum of a parent on a fine morning, cool sunlight dappled across bedroom floor; it’s a lullaby before bed, sung to a sleep-heavy head; it’s everything that’s ever felt gentle or safe. 

Slowly, he opens his eyes, savouring the last of the Mother’s hum. Fjord sits still before him, brow worried and dark eyelashes pressed to his cheeks. Eventually he opens his eyes too. They’re warm and glistening, like candlelight through glass. 

Caduceus lays back on the bed, pulling Fjord with him. They press kisses to each other’s foreheads, to temples and jawlines. 

“In the morning,” whispers Caduceus once they’ve settled. “Let’s find some nice shells… paint the Mother’s spiral on them… and make a new altar by the bed. We can hang one above us with some twine, as a ward. To protect us while we sleep.”

“A ward?” Fjord echoes.

“To keep the nightmares away.”

“Oh…” He yawns. “That’s a good idea.”

“For now, though, remember that I’ll be right here…besides you.”

“Always?” Fjord’s voice is quiet, vulnerable, so sleepy. 

Caduceus traces his fingers along the inside of his wrist, to his palm, and he takes his hand in his own. “Of course.”

Their fingers thread together, palms flush. Caduceus lifts Fjord’s hand, pressing it to his cheek. He kisses his knuckles one by one, pausing to feel his wedding ring cool beneath his lips. 

He stays awake until he hears Fjord’s breath soften and turn to a faint snore. He listens until he knows he’ll sleep soundly. 

In the morning he’ll make them both breakfast.


	2. in the morning when i wake (and the sun is coming through)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think we overdid it on the boat yesterday,” Fjord says, and sighs. His arms are achy, his shoulders stiff. He rolls them twice, and stretches.
> 
> Caduceus is in bed still, unusual for him, since usually he’s the first to wake, rising with the sun to start on the bread or pray. On occasion he does both at once, arranging a sigil of herbs atop the dough as he whistles a tune.
> 
> “Maybe,” replies Caduceus. He’s on his side in the alcove on which their bed lies, hidden behind meshy curtains, his back to the wall. Beneath his eyes his skin is lavender-dark. “Must’ve used up all my spoons,” he says, laughing quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this chapter almost didnt happen! almost gave up on it bc the fic had some bad energy attached to it but i think i managed to save it :'') also made it happier. the original draft of this chapter was kind of just sad and. i made it fluffy instead so thats good :'3
> 
> songs i listened to whilst writing this:  
> food still hot - karen o and the kids  
> bloom - the paper kites  
> hope you enjoy it !! :'3  
> comments and kudos are really appreciated, thank you <3 <3

part ii 

“I think we overdid it on the boat yesterday,” Fjord says, and sighs.His arms are achy, his shoulders stiff. He rolls them twice, and stretches.

Caduceus is in bed still, unusual for him, since usually he’s the first to wake, rising with the sun to start on the bread or pray. On occasion he does both at once, arranging a sigil of herbs atop the dough as he whistles a tune.

“Maybe,” replies Caduceus. He’s on his side in the alcove on which their bed lies, hidden behind meshy curtains, his back to the wall. Beneath his eyes his skin is lavender-dark. “Must’ve used up all my spoons,” he says, laughing quietly. 

“I think so,” says Fjord. He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes Caduceus’ hair back from his face, tucking it behind his soft, droopy ear. “It was rougher than I thought it would be out there.”

“Mm,” Caduceus agrees. “Got windy real fast. Cold, too.”

“It did.”

Caduceus blinks slowly, brow furrowing slightly. “I… I’ll be just fine. I’ll start on the bread in an hour or two.”

“Oh. No, no,” Fjord says. “Caduceus, really, let yourself get some rest.”

His husband sighs, perhaps a little grumpily.

“Let me get you breakfast and some tea,” offers Fjord. “Alright?”

A small smiles curls the corners of Caduceus’ mouth upwards. “Tea would… Oh, that’d be lovely,” he says. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” replies Fjord, already heading for the bedroom door before Caduceus can offer to get it himself. 

“Fjord?” he calls after him.

“Yes?”

“Just porridge if you’re making breakfast. Y’know, easy to eat. Mix in some linseed, cinnamon and ginger with the oats too. While they’re cooking. Yeah.”

Fjord can’t help but smile fondly. “Of course.” 

_There’s a row of wooden spoons on the windowsill. A simple method of keeping track of energy, one which Caduceus had picked up on a day spent shopping in Nicodranas. He’d spoken to a young woman with a walker and a floral scarf wrapped around her hair. Her name, she’d told them, was Tulsi. They’d spoken for a long time, about plants she was selling, and then, when it came up, Caduceus’ blightstaff and her walker._

_“Oh, it does a whole bunch’a stuff,” said Caduceus, tapping the staff on the cobbled street. “I tend to use it to help me walk nowadays, though.”_

_“Multipurpose,” replied Tulsi. “It’s beautiful, all the fungi and carvings and ribbon. I’ve carved some patterns into my walker, they’re not as pretty though.” She gestured to one of the legs._

_Caduceus bent down to get a closer look. “They’re lovely. I really like the waves.”_

_“I like how swirly they are,” added Fjord._

_Tulsi laughed. “Thank you very much.”_

_As Fjord looked through the bouquets and potted shrubs he listened to Tulsi tell Caduceus about how each morning she lays out ten spoons on her table and divides her energy between them. Some days she takes away four right away, others, she has a few left over._

_Caduceus had quickly taken to it, rather enamoured by the idea._

_He and Fjord had spent the next week carving spoons from pine offcuts until their fingers grew blistered and they asked Jester to paint them the rest._

_“Was it really necessary to carve them ourselves?” Fjord had asked._

_Caduceus looked at the spoons, laid out on the windowsill. “It just felt right.”_

_He lifted one, running his thumb up and down it, and hummed, satisfied._

Fjord finds the oats in the pantry, a small walk-in cupboard he’d only describe as organised chaos. The arrangement of the various herbs, spices, fermenting bottles and jars, and other foodstuffs only makes sense to Caduceus, and _maybe_ Jester, who at some point had enthusiastically labelled everything with swirly handwriting. He searches the shelves for the jars of dried ginger and cinnamon, finding them not far off. As he leaves he’s careful not to hit his head on a string of smoked garlic.

As Fjord heats home-made almond milk on the stove he listens to the rain patter gently on the window above the sink. He closes his eyes for just a moment, listening, before pouring in enough oats for breakfast. He stirs, waiting as it thickens.

Outside, the harsh wind hasn’t died down since yesterday, since the struggle to get the boat back to shore. And the sky’s still grey, dark above the ocean, the clouds bleeding into it like Jester’s watercolour paintings.

_They’d made it back to the sandbanks eventually, exhausted and windswept, hair plastered to their faces. They might not have been so lucky without their water-shifting spells. Fjord thanked Melora as he sank waste deep into the waves. Caduceus followed, skirt and coat billowing around his thighs. Together they hauled the small boat up the beach, and together they lifted it with gritted teeth._

_“Are you alright?” Fjord called over the wind._

_Caduceus stumbled in the sand, eyes unfocused. “I’m fine,” he replied. “If we leave it— It won’t be here in the morning.”_

_He was right. Come the next high tide the boat would be gone, swept out to sea or smashed to splinters against the rocks. So they climbed the steep pathway along the cliffs, panting all the way, and abandoned the upturned boat besides the house, running inside to hide from the rain._

Once the porridge is ready Fjord spoons it into bowls, and fills a teapot with a warming tea blend, (the label reads: _ginger, cardamom & cinnamon _in Caduceus’ unpracticed handwriting) and pours over boiled water. 

He turns, searching for a tray to carry everything on, to see Caduceus standing in the doorway. 

“Ducey—” Fjord hurries over to him, to help him keep upright, because his brow is furrowed in the way it always is when he’s concentrating on not fainting. “What’re you doing?”

“Just want to sit in the livingroom,” he says. "In case the sun comes out.”

“Oh. Right. Good idea,” Fjord replies. He waits until Caduceus steadies himself before leading him to the sofa on the bay-windowsill. He walks in a stilted, pained way that makes Fjord worry — it’s almost a limp. “Be careful, Cads. You should’ve asked me to come help.” 

Caduceus doesn’t reply, instead sits down with a grumble, running his hands over his face.

“Are you alright?” Fjord asks.

“ _Mm_.” Caduceus nods and looks up at him, smile tired.

Fjord gathers their breakfast on a tray — _It’s in the pantry_ , Caduceus tells him when he can’t find it— and sets it down on a stool besides the sofa, passing a bowl to Caduceus.

“Oh. That smells nice…cinnamon,” he says, in his sleepy, thoughtful sort of way. 

“Hopefully it’ll taste good, too.” Fjord sits on the sofa, legs crossed as he leans against the armrest, looking out over the garden, then out to sea. “Thank you for letting me get it for you.”

Caduceus pours tea into the cups, takes his and blows on it. He inhales, and he hums with his eyes closed, steam circling his face. After a while he opens them and says: “I don’t know if you thank people for that sort of thing.” He wears an amused little grin, head cocked to one side.

“Well I am,” Fjord replies.

He watches as Caduceus reaches for the second teacup and sets it on the windowsill besides his own. Outside, the clouds have parted, a slender beam of sunlight breaking through, casting a glimmering spotlight on the sea.

“You are,” Caduceus agrees.

Fjord smiles. “Sun’s coming out.”

“Yeah. Beautiful,” says Caduceus, watching the water shimmer. “That’s really nice. Especially through the rain.”

As they eat the sky opens up, pale blue emerging from between the dark clouds. And eventually light seeps inside, reaching far across the living-room, broken only by the cover of the plants on the windowsill and the young pear tree outside. 

Caduceus raises his face to the sun, like a flower would; his eyes closed, eyelashes long and rested on his cheeks. Fjord does the same. And it is so warm, like a good bath, or a long embrace. Through the quiet a thought comes to him, something he’s been meaning to ask about, and he turns it in his head until he has to open his eyes; the world’s so bright, tinted blue. Caduceus is watching him, his expression fond in a way that Fjord can’t quite comprehend. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to being admired so sincerely, so unashamed.

He almost forgets his thought.

“Ducey?” he asks.

Caduceus nods expectantly.

“I know I’m not one to notice things… but I’m also not the heaviest sleeper lately.” Fjord sets his empty bowl back onto the tray, and cradles his teacup between his hands. "Do you… sneak out into the garden in the middle of the night?”

“Ah,” replies Caduceus. “I was beginning to think you knew.”

“You’re not exactly the quietest person.”

Caduceus laughs at that, and draws his legs up and inwards, resting his cheek against his knees.

“What do you do out there?” Fjord asks.

Caduceus hums. “Talk to Her.”

“Melora?”

A nod.

“About what?”

“I… I ask if they’re alive or gone,” Caduceus says, one hand drifting behind his legs, to rest upon his abdomen. “It’s foolish to ask so often…”

“It’s not foolish at all,” replies Fjord. “Although… I thought you said we should trust Her. And, like, let her decide, and not worry.”

Caduceus smiles to himself. It’s a sad smile, gazing up at the opening sky. “I did say that.”

Slowly, Fjord rubs thumb across the tip of Caduceus’ nose and waits —his fur’s thin there, soft, pink skin beneath— until his pale eyes meet Fjord’s. 

“I want to trust that it’ll all be alright,” Caduceus says. “It’s still so strange to me, even now, knowing that — _oh, yeah_ — there isn’t one set path for me. Or anyone. There never was…It’s uncertain and I’m not used to that at all… Well, maybe. Kinda. A little bit now. After everything.”

Fjord trails his thumb across Caduceus’ cheek, cups his palm against his jaw. “You ask her about our child?” he asks. There’s heat behind his eyes, like he might cry.

“Mostly. Yeah,” replies Caduceus.

“What does she tell you?”

“That everything’s just fine. They’re safe…We’re safe.” Caduceus leans into Fjords palm, covering it with his own. “Sometimes I ask about you or our friends, or our family. Y’know make sure the Grove’s alright… She tells me everyone’s okay, though, and will be for the — _uhm—_ foreseeable future. Warm breezes through my hair n’ all.”

Fjord leans forwards, shuffling a couple inches closer on his knees, and presses a kiss to Caduceus’ cheek, just above where his hand lays. “So how come you keep asking?” he asks, though he could guess (he’s grown wiser over the years, wiser to how Caduceus works, at least).

And right now he looks as if he’s trying to figure his own feelings out. 

“I’m not sure,” Caduceus says after a moment.

“I guess you’re worried? Or scared?” suggests Fjord. 

There’s a soft laugh. “Both. Both and probably more.”

“That’s alright,” Fjord says, quiet. “I am, too.”

Caduceus lifts his gaze from his knees and looks at Fjord with watery eyes and a smile that creases them at the corners, scrunching his nose ever so slightly. It’s a smile that turns Fjord’s body light and fluttery, and leads to a gentle kiss that meets in the middle. 


End file.
